The King's court buzzed with anticipation as nobles exchanged whispers, eagerly awaiting the entrance of the accused and the subsequent judgment by King Duriel. The monarch lounged on his throne, now lavishly adorned with extra cushions to accommodate both his increasing girth and his swelling harem which he no longer cared to hide away. No longer did he feel the need to hide his indulgences; those who might have taken offense dared not voice their disapproval.

The assembly's primary topics of discussion revolved around the future District Overseer and the fate of the current titleholder. Would he face his destiny with dignity, or would he resort to flight, combat, or desperate negotiation? The recent upheavals in the Eastern District also fueled the gossip. From the restructuring of the guard to the Overseer's acquisition of brothels, taverns, and gambling dens, and most notably, the establishment of a gladiator arena. Some admired the Gauntlet Bearer's determination to indulge in life's carnal pleasures before his impending doom, while others speculated about his sanity or saw his actions as an attempt to willingly defile the entire district as a final insult to the king. Yet, a few were simply engrossed in tales of their favorite gladiator or recounting their latest conquest in one of the brothels.

After a prolonged wait, King Duriel, growing impatient, tapped his spoon against a pitcher. The crystalline sound hushed the room. With a commanding gesture, he ordered the accused to be presented. The grand doors swung open, revealing the man of the hour. Buren's entrance ignited a fresh wave of murmurs. He limped heavily, leaning on a crutch to alleviate the pressure from his injured leg. He had chosen not to use the numbing effects of the black lotus, fearing it would hinder his body's natural healing process. If he were to ignore the pain and walk normally, he risked exacerbating the injury, potentially causing irreparable damage. His stance, dictated by the various bruises and fractures, was awkward and strained. Yet, the dark bruise encircling his eye did nothing to diminish the fire of determination in his gaze. Beside him, Flynn trudged, burdened by a weighty burlap sack slung over his shoulder.

The royal advisor, a missionary of the Faith often seen whispering in King Duriel's ear, began the proceedings. "Presented before us, charged with the grievous crime of treason and neglect of duty to his sovereign, is Buren of Coldwood, the Overseer of the Eastern District. His failure to remit the funds owed to the crown has severely hampered our benevolent king's endeavors to assist the destitute citizens of this city. Many are homeless and jobless, and it can be rightly said that the weight of their suffering lies squarely on his shoulders."

A voice rang out in objection from the crowd. It was the emissary of the Magi. "Objection! That statement is a gross exaggeration, if not an outright falsehood."

"This isn't a trial, foreigner," the missionary retorted dismissively. "It's a sentencing. Only the accused may present any mitigating circumstances."

Buren, with a casual gesture, signaled Flynn, who, sensing the attention of the court upon him, declared, "Your Highness, I present to the court the objection of His Lord Overseer." With a theatrical flourish, Flynn dropped the heavy sack at his feet, producing a metallic clatter that resonated with unmistakable significance throughout the hall. The audience, in collective disbelief, leaned forward as Flynn unveiled the sack's contents: a treasure trove of coins.

In the ensuing silence, Flynn proclaimed, "Here lies the exact amount demanded by the Crown, and not a penny less."

Urged by the advisor, a team of bookkeepers swiftly began counting and verifying the hoard. They meticulously sorted and weighed the coins, and after a tense period, one approached the advisor to whisper their findings. The missionary paused, seemingly frozen in time, before nodding to the king.

King Duriel, his voice a low rumble, asked, "How?"

Buren replied with nonchalance, "I won't bore Your Highness with details. A stater here, a drachma there, and there you have it."

The king's jaw tightened, but recognizing his defeat, he snapped, " Get out of my sight." Buren turned and limped away with an air of indifference. Flynn, however, executed an exaggerated bow, his exit more reminiscent of a theatrical performer's flourish than the proper deference to royalty. King Duriel, though seething, recognized he did not have the grounds for another attack on one protected by the Treaty and pretended not to notice.

"Did you see their faces?" Flynn exclaimed with glee during their carriage ride back to the castle. When met with silence, he continued, "It's astonishing how much money can be amassed from whores, booze, and gladiatorial bouts in just a few days." Buren merely grunted in response. The claim might be surprising to Flynn, and anyone with a deeper understanding of the Eastern District's commerce would find it impossible. However, the full intricacies of the financial web were known only to Buren, as he had ensured that even his financial advisors focused solely on specific sectors or regions within the district.

After his confrontation with the daemon and the demise of the guard captain, Buren had purged the guard of its most corrupt members, ensuring they faced justice. He replenished their ranks with honorable men chosen from the refugees. Those with prior military or watch experience were appointed as lieutenants and tasked with training the newcomers, who were primarily former farmers and craftsmen.

His subsequent decision, however, was met with less enthusiasm. Buren implemented a tax hike on both individuals and businesses within the Eastern District. These funds were allocated to support the guard, who now genuinely maintained stability and security in the area. Disguised and roaming the streets at night, as he had while hunting the colossal man-eater, Buren had witnessed the prevailing mood of the district. He understood the desires of the downtrodden and desperate, the survivors who wanted to celebrate life, and those who sought oblivion. Their collective yearnings pointed towards hedonistic indulgences where they could lose themselves in drink, carnal pleasures, and brutal entertainment. This was where the wealth lay.

To further stimulate the district's economy, Buren encouraged the establishment of more brothels and inns. However, to prevent brawls from spilling into the streets, he erected an arena to contain the blood-sports to a single venue. As a result of the increased taxes, more women found themselves resorting to prostitution, while men set up stalls in the marketplaces or toiled in the Overseer's fields outside the city, laboring intensively for scant rewards. As Buren had anticipated, the arena soon drew the attention of the idle nobility. They placed substantial bets on their favored combatants and began sponsoring promising fighters, hoping to bring honor to their family names.

In his quest for survival, Buren had transformed his jurisdiction into a veritable den of vice. Yet, even that hadn't sufficed. Time had been too short for wealth to amass naturally, compelling him to delve deeper into the shadows. He brokered clandestine deals with opportunistic nobles, who, despite their disdain for him, were lured by greed and wished to keep their dealings hidden from the King. He also engaged with figures from the criminal underworld, like black market traders, ensuring they posed no physical threat to his subjects. These unsavory characters saw potential in his ventures and were willing to invest as silent — or more aptly, invisible — partners, demanding a significant share of the profits. The gold he presented to the king was a blend of contributions from these aristocrats and the concealed coffers of smugglers.

The decision weighed heavily on Buren. He recognized the potential harm of the brothels, the dangers of rampant alcohol, and the allure of quick riches in the arena that might cost many their lives. Yet, he rationalized that at least now, people had a choice. No longer would innocents be snatched from the streets by guards for nefarious purposes. This freedom of choice, he believed, justified the means. After all, he too had sacrificed personal comforts for a greater cause. Was it too much to expect others to do the same?

The carriage's pace slowed, hindered by roadwork he had commissioned. Soon, the streets would transform from muddied tracks to proper thoroughfares, accommodating merchants with their laden wagons and nobles seeking the district's illicit pleasures, all while ensuring their finery remained pristine. Decrepit shanties would be dismantled, their materials repurposed to rejuvenate the surroundings. The newly installed red lanterns and torches, suspended between buildings, bathed the streets in a warm, dreamlike glow. This not only added to the ambiance but also ensured safety, reducing the risk of nefarious activities in previously shadowed alleyways.

While these improvements signaled a promising beginning for the district's transformation, Buren constantly reminded himself of his ultimate objective: amassing wealth and influence to gain access to the Dryad Holy Grounds.

That evening, he stood atop his tower, gazing at the dark silhouette of the Ancient Tree, contrasting against the slightly lighter horizon. Below, the city glowed a deep red, and the sounds of raucous celebration echoed from every corner. Only the arena stood out, where the crowd's bloodthirsty cheers marked a brutal strike or the defeat of a combatant. He had been trying to manage without pain relief, thinking he might need to reserve his stash for times when he'd have to move despite his injuries. But finding a comfortable sleeping position was proving elusive, exacerbating the insomnia brought on by his recurring nightmares. His letters to the Forest Elders had gone unanswered, and the backup plans he'd devised in case of diplomatic failure would take time to set in motion. One particular strategy kept resurfacing in his thoughts, but he dismissed it, believing he'd only resort to it if all else failed. He was certain that it was this very plot the daemon had glimpsed in his mind, attempting to use it to discredit him during a crucial moment.

"It won't come to that," he resolved, descending the spiral staircase to his chamber. Upon entering, he promptly bolted the door behind him and settled at his desk. The candles' flames danced, disturbed by a gentle breeze from the slightly ajar window.

He had left that window securely shut.

Springing to his feet, he reached for his sword, which hung beside the bed.

"I see city life has dulled your edge," a voice remarked. There, lounging on his bed and swinging her legs playfully, was Azure. "Your tripwire by the window was easy to spot, and the latch? Simple to undo from outside. I'm genuinely concerned for your safety."

He conceded internally that the traps were rudimentary, a necessary compromise for his nightly excursions. But he kept that thought private, replying instead, "It's good to see you unharmed. I never meant to strike you during our last encounter."

"I know. Thankfully, our salves and potions mended the damage, so I'm as good as new."

"I must speak with your Elders about the rock formation where they discovered me."

"Whew, slow down," she interjected, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "That's currently off the table. But I'm here to seek your aid, and that might sway the Elders to rethink your exile."

"If they possessed my knowledge, they wouldn't hesitate to grasp the gravity of my request."

"That's not happening. Honestly, I journey all this way, infiltrate your bedroom, and that is all you can think about?"

He cast a sidelong glance at her. She was right. The weight of his mission had consumed him, and he had been unable to put it aside even when he had been fighting for his life. Such had been the case during his prior quest for the Artifact.

Hesitating, still reluctant to shift topics, he finally inquired, "What brings you here?"

"We've discovered that the Faith hasn't released all the Dryads they enslaved. They're still exploiting them in their fields. My mission is to locate and liberate them."

"Why not approach the other signatories of the Treaty? Since it binds Duriel, he should've released any Dryad slaves on his lands, even if he won't let go of their tree companions."

Her expression darkened. "The Faith exploits a loophole. They never signed the Treaty, so they aren't beholden to its terms. Now, they claim a separation between state and church, even as their influence over the monarchy grows. They argue that lands under the Faith's control aren't the king's domain. And the king, seeing the benefits, readily agrees."

"Both the Reverend and the King will retaliate if they perceive this as an attack."

"The very loophole they exploit shall be our shield," Azure elucidated with a sly tilt of her head. "Should the Faith claim exemption from freeing the Dryads, they must, in turn, relinquish the clause that prevents us from emancipating our kin. They cannot play this game to both ends. And Duriel, ensnared by this limitation, will find himself at an impasse. Really, I'm looking forward to their indignant spluttering."

"Do you know where the Dryads are held?"

"Not precisely. But if we trace the path of the produce the Faith sends into the city, it should lead us to the source. Then there of course those few that belong to Duriel by his vassals, but there is little we can do for them, due to the Treaty. Thankfully, there are just a few of them indeed."

"Why involve me?"

"Traveling these lands as Dryads alone poses challenges." Her lips curled into a playful smile. "And, of course, for the company."

"My involvement might complicate things. If I leave town, I'm obligated to report my destination."

She raised an eyebrow. "But accidents happen, right? One could easily get lost."

He considered her proposal, then nodded. "First, let's gather information from those transporting the goods. It'll also give me more time to heal."

"Excellent. In the meantime, drink this," she offered, presenting a bottle filled with a murky green liquid. "Heat it until it turns red, then drink it before it reverts to green. It'll hasten your recovery."

"What's it made of? This could've been invaluable during our previous journeys."

"Our ancestors only recently dared to reveal the formula. They believed the risk of humans acquiring it has diminished, given they can't enter the forest without permission."

He nodded, understanding their caution. "I'll arrange a guest room for you."

She waved the offer away. "I'd prefer to remain unnoticed. If you're ready to depart, leave a candle in your window. I'll meet you the next day at the Eastern gate. If I have news, I'll visit as I did tonight."

She moved gracefully towards the window. "It'll be like old times," she said with a smile, before deftly climbing out and vanishing from sight.

"That's what I'm worried about," he thought.

Two days later, he approached their designated meeting spot, transformed. The potion's effects were evident: his wounds had mended, his skin was smoother, his hair lustrous, and a persistent ache in his back, which he'd grown accustomed to, had vanished. He'd reserved some of the elixir for future use. The gate guards, having been informed of his journey—officially a hunting expedition—allowed him to pass without hindrance. To maintain the ruse, he had equipped himself with spears, a bow, arrows, and other hunting paraphernalia, all of which were secured to his horse, providing a makeshift backrest. The gear clinked and jingled, swaying with the horse's rhythm.

He halted beneath the shade of the agreed-upon tree, thinking he was the first to arrive. However, Azure's voice broke the silence with a soft, "Hey." He spun around, searching, until the hickory's bark shifted, revealing her silhouette. As she stepped away, her camouflage dissipated, revealing her in her radiant azure hue. An involuntary thought crossed his mind: if he ever had to battle Dryads in a forest, the most strategic move would be to incinerate the vegetation, preventing them from using it for concealment or weaponry. He quickly dismissed the notion, reminding himself that he sought peaceful reconciliation. Yet, guilt gnawed at him, making his greeting—a mere nod—seem insincere in response to her warm smile.

She appeared neither offended nor observant of his internal conflict. "We should make haste. I'd prefer to distance ourselves from the city's prying eyes," she suggested.

He nodded in agreement, understanding the complications of being seen with a Dryad.

"I've left my deer in that grove," she pointed towards a wooded area beyond the city's barren outskirts. "Would you mind if I rode with you until then?"

He extended his hand to assist her. She regarded it briefly, a playful glint in her eyes, then gracefully somersaulted onto the horse, settling between his back and his gear. The horse neighed in surprise but soon settled.

She chuckled, "Thanks for the chivalrous offer, though."

He spurred the horse forward, the rhythmic clopping of hooves punctuating the silence. For a time, Azure filled the air with casual inquiries about his life in the city and shared tidbits about the happenings in the Grove. Yet, he discerned her careful avoidance of any deep insights into the inner sanctum of Dryad society. It struck him that perhaps she still viewed him as an outsider, not privy to the intimate details of her kin. Given her role as a guardian of her people, he found her caution justified. His own responses were limited to grunts, shrugs, and the occasional terse reply.

After a stretch of silence, she remarked, "You've always been a man of few words. I imagined city life, with its endless banter over refined drinks, might have changed that. Have you not been practicing your conversational skills?"

"Talk is often pointless," he replied tersely.

"Many would argue otherwise."

"Actions matter. Words merely delay what must be done, and deeds, they speak for themselves."

She tilted her head, considering his words. "But what if others misinterpret your actions? What if they see them as harmful and try to intervene? In such cases, explaining your intentions might prevent unnecessary conflicts. Take, for instance, your clandestine venture into our Holy Grounds."

"I couldn't risk losing the opportunity. Had I sought permission, I might have been placed under surveillance, thwarting my plans. If one's actions are driven by righteous intent, those who oppose him are misguided, whether they realize it or not."

"Morality is often subjective, shaped by culture and circumstance," she countered.

He shook his head firmly. "No."

"No?"

"There's always a singular path that stands out as the most righteous. If one remains true to it, there's no need to justify one's actions to those with clouded judgment. All will be revealed in due course."

She arched an eyebrow. "You can't possibly believe you hold the key to what's best for everyone. Unless, of course, you fancy yourself some deity with foresight."

"I strive to do what I believe is right, aiming for the greater good. I may not foresee the future, but I can remain unwavering in my pursuit of justice and virtue."

"If your mission is as noble as you claim, why not share it? Shouldn't others rally behind a cause that promises universal benefit?"

"In a world where many are driven by self-interest, they amass power, wealth, and the gift of persuasion," he began, his voice low and contemplative. "Many are easily ensnared by eloquent words, even if they lead to their own ruin. I've encountered men willing to barter with daemons. That alone speaks volumes about the depths to which some will sink. The allure of false promises can be a potent snare."

Azure countered, "Perhaps one individual can be misguided, but when a multitude shares a belief, can a single person truly claim they're all mistaken?"

"Mobs often lack the discernment of the individual," he replied. "Have you never witnessed a tavern brawl sparked from a mere trifle? Or seen a vast crowd silenced, each person too fearful to challenge authority, mistakenly believing they stand alone in their dissent?"

She huffed, "By the Flood! What baffles me is why someone with such a dim view of humanity would sacrifice so much for their sake. If you're so enamored with suffering, why not publicly flagellate yourself like those zealots of the Faith?"

He remained silent, pondering her words. The answer wasn't straightforward. It was an intrinsic part of him, an inability to stand idly by when danger threatened those he deemed his kin. He had once sought solace in the remote reaches of Coldwood, intending to remain there, where challenges were simpler and gratitude was often expressed with a hearty meal. Yet, fate had other plans, drawing him into the larger fray of the kingdom. Now, extricating himself from this intricate web seemed impossible. Abandoning the duties he had embraced would haunt him for life. He was akin to a sheepdog, ever vigilant, guarding its flock. It was simply his nature.

Azure's voice broke through his reverie, feigning exasperation. "Ah, the silent treatment once more. It's quite nostalgic, you know. Anod, Hewlett, and I used to have a running bet on the duration of your silences. At one point, when we went wayyyy of the track in the Underworld, you remained wordless for four days in a row. Four days! Anod pocketed a hefty sum on that wager.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The mere mention of the Underworld sent a shiver down his spine, a ghostly reminder of his lost right arm. But the pain that memory inflicted paled in comparison to the anguish evoked by the name Hewlett.

He felt her gentle touch on his shoulder, a consoling gesture. "You can't bear the weight of his choices," she whispered. "He made his decisions."

"I often wonder if things might have been different had I allowed him to take the Gauntlet."

"We'll never truly know," she replied softly. "You acted to shield him from its pain. Had you not swiftly returned the Gauntlet to King Devon, we might have lost everything."

"Yes..." She was practically repeating his own thoughts to him. Yet, the weight of those he couldn't save pressed heavily upon him, an ever-growing burden.

She shifted the topic, perhaps sensing his melancholy. "You've become quite skilled with that arm."

He delved into his theories about the limb's functions and its capabilities. She listened intently, then whistled in admiration. "I thought the Grey Battle showcased its full potential, but it seems that was merely the beginning. However, I must admit, the arm unnerves me. It feels so... unnatural, so distant from the essence of nature and the woods. But in a way, it suits you, much like that scar. Scary, in a sexy kind of way."

He smirked, "I knew you enjoyed accouterments that look stylish yet can kill in the right hands."

She chuckled, "Easy on the eyes and potentially the last thing one might see. That's me—drop-dead gorgeous." Her playful banter continued, a welcome reprieve from the somber topics they'd touched upon. Dryads were inherently lyrical, with some of their more spiritual kin choosing to communicate solely in verse. These verses often became immortalized in songs or tales of ancient heroes. Azure, however, had a unique twist to this trait—a love for puns and wordplay.

But her playful demeanor didn't make him forget than there was more to her attire than met the eye. She wore a gauzy green tunic that ended at her upper thigh. Wooden vines, adorned with delicate flowers and intricate bark patterns, wrapped around her arms and shins, serving as both decoration and armor. Her hair was crowned with a wreath of vibrant red flowers, interspersed with dark green leaves that he recognized could transform into deadly darts, much like those the Dryad Elder had wielded against him.

Some women possessed an innocent, childlike beauty, while others, especially the high-born, exuded the elegance of a majestic feline. Azure, however, was a force of nature. Her beauty was akin to a raging thunderstorm or a tempestuous sea—breathtaking and awe-inspiring. Yet, one would be wise to admire such beauty from a distance, lest they find themselves ensnared in its tumultuous embrace.

They ventured into a secluded, wooded valley, guided by the information from traders who, after a generous bribe, had shared that they loaded their produce outside a vast monastery belonging to the Faith. The traders hadn't been permitted inside, so their knowledge of the compound was limited, but they did mention guards. As they drew closer, remnants of ancient stone steles signaled their proximity. Opting for discretion, they left their steeds concealed within the forest and proceeded on foot.

Before long, they came upon the monastery's entrance: a grand arched portal set within a stone wall. A guardhouse stood nearby, and though the sentinel seemed disinterested, bypassing him unnoticed would be a challenge. Scaling the wall, however, would be a simple task for both of them. They agreed to return under the cover of night, setting up a camp in the nearby woods and laying traps to alert them of any intruders. Their conversations, hushed and focused on their mission, were few.

As dusk settled, they executed their plan. Buren assisted Azure, propelling her atop the wall, and then swiftly followed. They flattened themselves atop a building adjacent to the wall, surveying the scene below. The monastery, he surmised, had once been a sanctuary for a local sect, perhaps venerating the forest or a specific woodland deity. However, like many such faiths, it had been overtaken by the aggressive expansion of the Faith. The once serene and beautiful cloister now bore the scars of conquest, its murals defaced and statues replaced with the Faith's symbols: clenched fists and vibrant red banners. The result was a place of worship that looked as if it had been ravaged by a relentless disease.

The expansive courtyard was a dense garden, overflowing with lush fruits, berries, and vegetables. The Faith's Knights of Penance, identifiable by their crimson surcoats and helmets adorned with anguished faceplates, patrolled the grounds. Each knight had sturdy metal rings affixed to their belts, from which chains dangled, binding the Dryads. These ethereal beings, their wrists and ankles shackled, moved with difficulty, their range limited by the heavy chains. More Knights stood sentinel in the towers, which Buren assumed once served as vantage points to admire the surrounding beauty but now functioned as watchtowers.

Suddenly, a Knight yanked a chain, causing a Dryad to fall face-first onto the ground. Harsh commands echoed as the fallen Dryad, with great effort, placed her hands on the earth. Buren watched in astonishment as the plants around her hands began to grow at an unnatural pace. Exhausted, the Dryad collapsed, only to be met with the whip's lash. As Azure made a move to intervene, Buren swiftly grabbed her shoulder.

"We can't just stand by," she whispered fiercely.

"We can't take on all of them, either," he murmured, eyeing the crossbows in the hands of the tower guards. "And those Dryads are in no state to flee. Engaging now would lead to needless casualties." She surveyed the scene once more, her shoulders sagging in reluctant agreement.

"So, what's our move?" she murmured.

"We observe."

She frowned, "For how long?"

"We'll see."

As night deepened, the torches lit by the monks illuminated the courtyard. These monks, wearing blinkers reminiscent of carriage horses, averted their eyes from the chained Dryads, quickly completing their tasks before retreating back into the shadows of the monastery.

Azure's impatience was palpable, but Buren maintained their vigil until dawn's first light. He had discerned the guards' shift patterns and noted that the exhausted Dryads, once they could no longer stand, were hauled to a nearby building—likely to recuperate before their next bout of forced labor. Sensing the time to withdraw, Buren motioned for retreat. Azure hesitated momentarily, her eyes still fixed on the monastery, but then followed him.

Once they were safely distanced from the wall, she vented, "All I could think of were countless ways to make those monsters suffer." She spat the words out, her anger evident. "Did you come up with anything?"

He met her gaze. "Rest now. Tonight, we act."

They returned in the evening, having meticulously reviewed their strategy multiple times. The challenge lay in the interlocking gaze of the watchtower knights, each overseeing the others, as well as the ground guards tethered to the captive Dryads. Should any knight fall, chaos would ensue, endangering the shackled Dryads caught in the crossfire. Buren's conclusion was clear: they needed to swiftly incapacitate as many defenders as possible, prioritizing the sharpshooters in the towers, before they could rally and counter.

Buren would position himself in a watchtower, while Azure would infiltrate the building housing the drained Dryads. There, she'd administer a revitalizing potion they'd once used during their quest for the Gauntlet. This elixir had sustained them through relentless days and nights. Azure expressed concerns about the potion's strain on the already weakened Dryads, but they had little choice.

Buren scaled the wall first, near a tower's base that their reconnaissance had identified as a blind spot. As he reached the top, a knight, coming to relieve his counterpart, appeared. Swiftly, Buren used his metallic arm to twist the man's head, silencing him instantly. He caught the collapsing body, preventing a noisy fall. Swiftly, he donned the knight's armor. The cuirass was punishing, its metal edges digging into his shoulders. He realized this discomfort was intentional, another form of penance the knights endured. The helmet was equally oppressive, its interior reeking of stale sweat.

Having discarded the body, Buren ascended the tower. The knight above wordlessly vacated his post upon Buren's arrival. Buren signaled Azure with a prearranged scratch on his faceplate. She emerged from a concealed spot, visible only from his tower, and stealthily navigated through the tall crops towards the slave quarters. The clinking chains and moans of the overburdened Dryads provided ample warning of the knights' proximity.

Reaching the crop field's edge, Azure faced the challenge of crossing the exposed yard to the building. Buren, surveying from his vantage, discreetly signaled when the knights' attention was diverted. When he looked back, Azure had vanished from the yard. Bracing for the impending confrontation, Buren neatly arranged a series of crossbow bolts on the tower's stone railing.

Footsteps sounded from the stairs.

From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the stairway, ensuring his reactions were minimal, in line with the impassive demeanor of the Knights of Penance. He also took care to hide his metallic arm beneath the overcoat. Three figures emerged: a knight, a man draped in the white robes of a high-ranking monk with eyes concealed behind gauzy wraps, and a battered Dryad, her face obscured by a sack, her body marred with bruises and cuts.

"Hail, brother Knight," intoned the monk. "Shield your gaze from this temptress, lest she ensnare you with her wicked charms, as she did another of our brethren, leading him to forsake his vow of abstinence. She has also defied our commands to work. Fear not, for her fate is sealed. She will hang from this very tower, a grim testament to her kind of the consequences of defiance."

With a nod of approval, the monk continued, "Now, brother, redeem yourself and continue your journey of penance."

The knight roughly pulled the Dryad forward, her feeble protests barely audible. Accepting a length of rope from the monk, he began fashioning a noose. Concurrently, Buren's attention was drawn to a novice, identifiable by his plain white robe and blinkers, hastening towards the slave pen. The novice's furtive glances and nervous demeanor suggested he was keen to go unnoticed. Buren was in a bind; he couldn't alert Azure, and any aggressive move would compromise their mission.

He weighed his options rapidly. If Azure had the situation under control, any interference on his part might jeopardize their covert operation. Yet, he also recognized the importance of the Dryads' endorsement with their Elders. Passive acceptance of such a heinous act would surely tarnish his reputation among them, especially if any Dryads were harmed in the ensuing chaos, depending on how swiftly Azure located the keys they believed to be inside the slave pen.

His mind raced. What was the right move? How could he discern the best course of action?

Then it all became clear as he considered his ultimate objective. For that, he needed the approval of the Dryad Elders.

For that, he really needed to put on a show.

From the ground level, the furtive novice burst from the shed, arms flailing, shouting, "The slaves are escap—" His warning was cut short as a chakram, crafted of vine and razor-sharp leaves, flew from the shadows, embedding itself at the base of his skull. He crumpled, lifeless, like a marionette severed from its strings. Azure emerged swiftly, retrieving her weapon from the novice's flesh and lunging at the nearest knight who was drawing his blade.

"An outbreak," the monk beside Buren gasped. The knight, abandoning the rope, unsheathed a dagger, evidently deciding to hasten the execution. Buren lunged, grappling the knight from behind. With a swift motion, he hoisted the knight by the belt, sending him plummeting from the tower. Admirably, the knight maintained his vow of silence, even as he met his death, crashing to the ground below.

The monk's terrified squeal was cut short as Buren slammed his head against the stone wall, rendering him unconscious. Swiftly, he freed the Dryad's arms and removed the sack from her head. Her eyes, wide with fear and confusion, darted around.

Gently but firmly, Buren grasped her chin, ensuring she focused on him. It was crucial she remembered him. "You can descend outside the wall there," he instructed, indicating the path he'd taken. "Your sisters will follow. Seek refuge in the woods and regroup as they arrive."

Without hesitation, she fled the tower. Buren, lifting the crossbow and still concealing his metallic arm, took aim at a knight who had Azure in his sights. His bolt found its mark, piercing the knight's throat, causing his shot to go astray. Buren swiftly neutralized two other sharpshooters before the last one realized the danger and sought cover. Satisfied that he had momentarily neutralized the threat from above, Buren shifted his focus to the knights below, taking care to avoid the still-bound Dryads.

The living shields posed a dilemma not just for Buren but also for the knights. Their movement was severely hampered by the Dryads tethered to them, a clear oversight in their design, given the singular point of release for the shackles. One particularly impatient guard, unwilling to deal with the entanglement, raised his sword to cut through the knot — meaning the Dryads' necks. However, a bolt from Buren's crossbow struck his shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon. Though the bolt failed to penetrate the fist-shaped pauldron protecting the knight's shoulder, the subsequent shot found its mark on his forehead. Whether dead or merely unconscious, the knight remained motionless. The prisoners, seizing the opportunity, crawled closer, using his fallen sword first to sever his belt, and then, with grim determination, his throat. Though free from their captor, they remained bound together by the chain's connecting ring.

"Pity," Buren thought as he watched the knight be stabbed to death with his own sword. "The rest of these mooks just jerk around, tied down by their own tethers, while he at least had some ingenuity in undoing the knot. With quick wit like that, maybe he could have become something great under different circumstances. A king?"

Azure's chakrams, though deadly, were ill-suited against the heavily armored knights. Adapting swiftly, she commanded the vines that had previously adorned her forearms to unfurl and merge with those from her shins. The result was a long, robust staff, adorned with a spiral of flowers from tip to tip — a testament to the Dryads' penchant for infusing nature into their weaponry. With grace and power, she spun the staff overhead, gathering momentum before striking a knight's helmet with such force that it dented around one of its tearful eyeholes. The resonating clang echoed through the courtyard as he crumpled. Using the crops as cover, she would disappear, only to suddenly vault into the air, landing atop another knight and dispatching him with a swift, brutal strike.

However, the ringing of an alarm bell shattered the night's stillness, sending a chill down the spines of the escapees. The knights, though silent in their combat, had now sounded the alert. Buren's gaze snapped to the source — the one tower knight he hadn't neutralized. Though Buren managed to wound the knight's exposed arm with a bolt, the damage was done. Soon, torchlight flickered from windows, and novices in simple robes emerged, bows at the ready. Armored knights, having donned their gear, joined the fray.

Azure moved with urgency, dispatching knights and freeing the Dryads. But time was against them. The novices, now lining the walls, nocked their arrows, awaiting the command to unleash death. Dodging such a barrage would be impossible. At Azure's direction, the liberated Dryads retreated into the crops, seeking cover. But with the enemy's overwhelming numbers, they could easily blanket the field with arrows, turning it into a deadly thicket.

A phalanx of knights emerged, their formation tight and circular, protecting four figures markedly different from the rest. At each end of the quartet stood behemoths encased in exaggeratedly bulky armor. They bore heavy wooden logs on their backs, each end carved into iron-plated fists. Their steps resonated with a deep thud as they trudged forward, their frames hunched under the weight that demanded both hands for support. Their helmets, like those of their brethren, bore the emblematic weeping visage.

Sandwiched between these titans was a man draped in the white-and-gold robes of an abbot, his face obscured by a golden mask that shielded his eyes. Beside him stood another figure, armored like a Knight of Penance but distinguished by a golden, tear-streaked helmet, identifying him as a Knight Commander. In his left arm, he bore a massive pavis shield, as tall as himself, its metal surface depicting a grotesquely exaggerated face of despair, its mouth agape in a silent scream. The fact the man could even move which such a burden spoke volumes of his determination.

The abbot, arms outstretched, proclaimed, "Surrender now. Spare yourselves further hardship." His smile was predatory. "Did you believe you learning of our sanctuary's existence was mere happenstance? We disseminated its location, confident that would-be saviors would come for their 'sisters'. Since your coven retreated to that damned forest, replenishing our workforce became a challenge. We can't simply await the birth of potential workers, nor can we spend years determining their magical aptitude. So, we baited the trap. And here you are, albeit fewer than anticipated."

The Knight Commander gestured towards Buren's tower, signaling the armored giants who began their lumbering ascent, each step leaving a deep imprint in the earth.

Azure, defiance burning in her eyes, retorted, "You wish to capture me alive? You'll have to do so over my cold corpse!" With that, she lunged at the abbot and commander, staff poised to strike. Seizing the moment, Buren loosed a bolt at the commander. However, the commander, ever vigilant, deflected it with his shield. Buren's heart sank as he reached for another bolt, realizing only one remained.

The echoing thud of heavy footsteps resonated up the staircase. Drawing his sword with his left hand, Buren knew that being recognized here could lead to dire consequences in the future. Even if he managed to escape, a single surviving witness could spell disaster.

The hulking knight emerged, his vast frame scraping the walls of the constricted stairwell. This confined space hindered the knight's movements, and Buren sought to exploit this advantage. He thrust his blade towards the knight's neck, a vulnerability he'd identified in previous foes. Yet, the blade merely glanced off the thick gorget. Up close, Buren discerned the meticulous design of the armor; every typical weak point was reinforced, rendering the knight a slow-moving, yet nearly invulnerable, juggernaut.

Buren's attempt to unbalance the knight was futile; the man's sheer mass was immovable. As the knight reached the platform, he hoisted the log from his back, positioning it at waist level. Buren noted the knight's wrists were shackled to the weapon, preventing him from releasing it. The knight swung, and Buren narrowly evaded, so it was instead the stone railing behind him that was obliterated. The knight began spinning around, his weapon passing Buren ever closer, so he was forced to duck. The knight took advantage of this and kicked at him. The knight's unexpected agility caught Buren off guard, a knee to the face splitting his lip.

Retreating, Buren stumbled over the unconscious monk, narrowly avoiding another devastating blow that instead pulverized the monk into a gruesome spray that showered the turret's surroundings with blood and gore. Desperately, Buren spied the half-tied noose amidst the carnage. Seizing it, he ensnared the knight's legs during his next spin. The behemoth lost his footing, crashing through the weakened railing and plummeting below.

Buren's attention snapped back to Azure, who was now at a disadvantage against the commander. With no clear shot available, he descended the stairs, only to be confronted by the second armored titan. The knight swung his massive weapon, and Buren leapt back, narrowly avoiding the blow. The weapon lodged into the wall, momentarily immobilizing the knight.

Spotting Azure in peril across the courtyard, Buren acted on instinct. He clambered onto the trapped weapon, using it as a springboard to leap over the knight. Mid-air, he aimed and fired his crossbow at the commander threatening Azure. Landing hard, the impact winded him, and he noted the broken string of his crossbow. Yet, his primary concern was Azure. The commander, hand pressed to his face, had momentarily ceased his assault.

Pushing through the pain, Buren discarded the damaged crossbow and sprinted towards Azure and the commander. All around, archers tracked his movement, their arrows nocked and ready, awaiting the command to release.

By the time Buren reached the commander, the latter had already regained his composure. With a swift motion, the commander deflected Buren's thrust using his colossal shield, then retaliated with a powerful bash that sent Buren reeling. As Buren tried to regain his footing, the commander swiftly dropped to one knee, pivoted his shield horizontally, and spun, striking Buren squarely in the temple. Dazed, Buren stumbled over the body of a fallen ally, expecting a fatal blow to follow. Yet, it never came.

Blinking away the disorientation, Buren found the commander observing him intently, those sorrowful golden eyes unblinking.

"Why do you hesitate?" the abbot cried out from behind the commander. "Finish them, Commander Traum!"

Recognition dawned on Buren. Traum. The knight he had bested in the joust.

Leaning in, Traum whispered, his voice a raspy shadow of its former self, "I recognize you, even beneath your disguise. I yearn for vengeance, but the High Ministers have other plans. Leave now, and take the witch with you. But our slaves? They won't be taken without a fight."

With a swift motion, Traum gestured towards the field where the Dryads had taken refuge. Their magic had transformed the crops into a writhing jungle, shielding them from view. The initial volley of arrows was effortlessly deflected by the animated vegetation.

With another signal from Traum, the archers dipped their arrows into flaming oil. The Dryads, sensing the impending danger, manipulated the plants to form a towering barrier against the courtyard wall. The first of the escapees began scaling it.

Buren lunged at Traum once more, only to be effortlessly repelled. The sky was soon ablaze with fiery arrows, raining down upon the protective canopy. The flames forced the Dryads out into the open, where some chose to face the inferno rather than the horrors of captivity. At Traum's command, the novices discarded their bows, arming themselves with batons and nets, and descended upon the Dryads, subduing and ensnaring them.

Surveying the chaos, Buren's heart sank. Their plan, hinging on the element of surprise, had unraveled. They were outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Their only option now was to retreat and minimize casualties. Seizing Azure's arm, he pulled her to her feet, guiding her towards a staircase that led to the parapet. From there, they could make their escape.

"No!" Azure's voice was a desperate plea as she reached for the Dryads being ensnared once more. "We must aid them."

"Our deaths here won't help them," he retorted sharply. As a knight descended the stairs, lunging with his blade, Buren deftly parried the attack, sending the man tumbling over the edge. An arrow, swift and silent, sliced through the air, catching his cloak but was halted by the metal beneath. With urgency, he vaulted over the wall, pulling Azure with him, and they vanished into the forest's embrace.

Only a somber few managed to escape, their hurried footsteps and labored breaths echoing through the woods, punctuated by the distant screams of those they couldn't save. The forest's unseen limbs reached out, brushing against their faces. The distant sound of pursuit kept them moving, and it was a considerable time before they dared to slow their pace. Guided by the innate sense of direction Dryads possessed, they skirted the monastery, retrieved their hidden steeds through a circuitous route, and continued their journey, avoiding main roads. As they ventured further, they draped the rescued Dryads in cloaks, offering them a semblance of protection.

The atmosphere was far from the jubilant rescue they had envisioned. Many of the girls wept, their voices filled with anguish, wondering about the fates of their friends. Azure, after ensuring none were gravely injured, rode up beside him.

"It's hard to fathom they'd orchestrate such an elaborate trap," she mused. "And they nearly succeeded."

He remained silent, prompting her to continue, "Did you recognize that commander?"

"We crossed paths once, at a funeral."

"He seemed to harbor a deep resentment towards you."

"He suffered a public humiliation when we last met."

"Even so... And for a moment, I felt he recognized me. When I was at his mercy on the ground, he could've ended me."

"Perhaps my bolt distracted him."

"No, it missed. He barely acknowledged it. He just stared, his gaze intense, weapon lowered, seemingly torn."

She answered her own query when he offered no response, "He must've intended to capture me alive. After all their efforts, it would've been a waste to kill me."

He grunted softly in agreement, though not entirely convinced.

At a rest stop along the main road skirting the forest, they found a wagon and a fresh horse, just as Buren had arranged. With a flourish of a false signature, he secured the transport. The girls climbed aboard, the compartment echoing with emptiness, a stark reminder of the many they had expected to rescue. However, the fewer passengers meant swifter travel. Disguised as a mere wagon driver, Buren urged the horse onward, reaching the Ancient Forest's boundary by nightfall.

There, the familiar figure of the Dryad Elder awaited them, flanked by Leva. The rescued Dryads alighted from the wagon, their steps light and graceful, their faces hinting at smiles for the first time since their ordeal. The forest rustled with movement, revealing the entire Grove's populace, who had come to welcome their kin.

Azure stepped forward, addressing the Elder and the gathered crowd. "Our mission was largely unsuccessful," she admitted, her voice carrying the weight of her words. "Only a handful of our sisters escaped, and I fear for those left behind. The captors had set a trap, using the prison camp's location as bait."

The Elder responded with a calm authority, "Thy return alone is a triumph so bold. To save even one from the enemy's hold. Those absent this eve, in our hearts enshrined, their spirits with us, forever entwined."

Azure gestured towards Buren. "Without Buren's bravery, none would have escaped. He seeks an audience with the Elders, and I believe he's earned that right."

The Elder's gaze was inscrutable. "Right? Dear Azure, I do not think so, even if you might."

A voice pierced the quiet. It was the Dryad Buren had saved from the noose. "If not for him, I'd be dead," she declared. "He deserves the audience he seeks."

The Elder remained silent, her eyes closed, as the forest filled with murmurs of agreement and hopeful glances. Even Azure offered Buren a supportive nod.

After what felt like an eternity, the Elder finally spoke, her voice clear and unwavering. "No."

A profound silence enveloped the forest, so deep that even the nocturnal creatures held their breath.

Azure began, "But—" only to be silenced by the Elder's stern voice.

"He seeks to tread on our sacred ground, with men in his wake, our sanctum to confound. Such a trespass we shan't and won't abide. His past deeds of violence we cannot set aside. Our verdict stands firm, not a subject for debate, especially whilst he harbors plans we berate."

With a determined stride, he approached the Elder, but Leva swiftly interposed herself, blocking his path. He glared past her, leveling an iron-clad finger at the Elder. "You are blind to the fate you consign your people to by denying me entry."

The Elder's voice was unwavering. "I am their future's sentry. If we let men come as they please, our freedom they shall again seize. I've sworn my kin shall not suffer that pain. Begone from this place, let thy protests wane."

Leva's hands instinctively moved to the hilts of her daggers, their wooden grips leading to blades of shimmering, hardened treesap. A tense silence enveloped them. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he turned on his heel and began to walk away, the collective sigh of the Dryads echoing in his wake.

Azure hastened to his side, her hand gently touching his shoulder. "There must be another way. Perhaps if you lived near the forest, in time, you could prove—"

"Stay away from the forest," he interrupted sharply.

She looked at him, confusion evident in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Take as many of your sisters as you can and leave the forest. And don't look back."

Her voice trembled, "Why? What's coming that's so terrible?"

He didn't voice his response, the words too chilling to utter aloud:

"I am."